For this one: You must shock your teenage (alien) child into guilt and gratitude. Matt's note: This one is sourced from Marcius's address to the mob in Act I, Scene 1 of Coriolanus. The original text follows this monologue.
OPPRESSION (any gender, late thirties through late fifties)
Well, do you feel empowered? That was a great speech, my child. Just like the human dramas. Misunderstood teen finally lashes out; gives a long devastating analysis of my parental failings. In human movies, I would be speechless. I would stay up all night. I would... what is human term... "soul search." The next morning I would apologize. You would be allowed more personal freedom.
But this is not a movie. And we are not humans.
You have no idea of my responsibilities. Keeping us incognito? It's a non-stop occupation.
I have to give you daily vocabulary lessons: Otherwise your peers will suspect.
I have to concoct your hourly medication: Otherwise the tentacles emerge.
And I have to give you strict social hours: Too few and your peers will think you're odd. Too many and your appetite will overtake you. We can't afford any more missing teenagers.
I work to keep you safe. I work to keep you on this planet. My thanks?
"You're worse than the high council on the home planet."
Well... perhaps I AM oppressive. Both to you AND to me. Yes. So here is our new freedom: You may do as you please from here on in. As much peer time as you like.
You are now the one responsible: Keeping yourself AND me disguised. If you succeed, then wonderful: A weight will be lifted from me.
And if you fail? We go back to our home planet. And a weight will still be lifted from me. Oppression from the high council? I'm finding this new freedom much more painful.
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes. If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"
He that will give good words to thee will flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him
And curse that justice did it.
Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate; and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye?
With every minute you do change a mind,
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another? What's their seeking?